


Drunk

by Jojora



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Relapsing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-11 04:55:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7029502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jojora/pseuds/Jojora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver still thinks Connor is a recovering addict when he accidentally runs into Connor drunk at a bar. Based off a tumblr prompt, I hope I can do it justice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Ever since the second murder, Connor’s drinking noticeably increased. The same could be said for the rest of the Keating Five, although Connor’s had been particularly bad lately. Of course, he never drank around Oliver. He had to keep up his recovering drug addict façade. But he and his co-workers often poured shots of whiskey into their coffee or cracked open beers at work and they almost always went out to a bar when they got out for the day. Usually Connor would just be seeking to maintain a light buzz, just enough to chill him out from the constant anxiety and stress until he could get home to Oliver and pretend the outside world didn't exist. But occasionally, he was aiming to forget completely. On those days, he clearly could not go home to Oliver and pretend to be sober so the others would take turns dragging him to their homes and making him sleep it off on their couches, taking his phone and sending Oliver a text that would say something along the lines of “Big issue in the case, might be an all-nighter.” 

Tonight, Connor had pre-emptively sent the text to Oliver because he already planned on getting absolutely plastered. It had been an incredibly long day; one of those days where he couldn’t get the flashbacks out of his mind and he felt on edge about everything. As soon as they reached the bar he ordered two shots and downed them both, then ordered a round of beers for the group. Michaela eyed him with concern, but didn’t say anything. None of them ever said anything to each other about it, all of them well too aware of the need to drown out the memories.

Several hours later Connor was good and drunk, slumping over sideways a little on the bar as he watched Laurel and Wes making out in a corner. Michaela and Asher had both left to go home already. Connor was so drunk that he was oblivious to most of his surroundings. He was definitely oblivious to the fact that Oliver had just wandered into the bar, having received Connor’s don’t wait up text and deciding to go out and get a drink rather than sit alone at home for yet another night while his boyfriend worked. 

“Connor?” Oliver’s surprised voice questioned from behind him. 

Connor perked up. Oliver was here, and in his inebriated state he didn’t realize that was probably very, very bad. He swiveled around in his bar stool, almost falling off as he did so. “Ollieeee! Hi!” he slurred with a wide grin on his face. 

Oliver’s whole demeanor dropped as his eyes moved from Connor to the somewhat impressive amount of empty glasses behind him on the bar and he processed what was happening. “You’re drunk” he stated flatly. He didn't even notice the couple in the corner and assumed Connor was here drinking alone. 

Connor furrowed his brow, huffing slightly at the fact that Oliver wasn’t happy to see him. “No I’m not,” he retorted, too drunk to realize that there was absolutely no chance in hell that his lie would even be remotely believable. 

Oliver closed his eyes, rubbed his forehead and sighed a long and deep sigh. He was angry, but there was no use being angry at a man while he could barely hold his own head up. And his anger was mixed with an overwhelming concern for Connor and a deep gut-wrenching sadness at the fact that Connor had broken his sobriety. Oliver wondered if this was the first time, or if Connor had been lying to him for awhile. Regardless of the answer, he had to get Connor home. “Okay, come on” he said, pulling Connor into his arms and off of the bar stool. 

“Where are we going?” Connor asked cheerfully into Oliver’s shoulder as he was placed on his feet, Oliver quickly maneuvering to his side to hold him up with a strong grip.

“We’re going home” Oliver responded, squeezing Connor a little tighter and trying hard to keep his voice gentle and calm to mask the disappointment he was feeling. “We’re going home and going to bed."

“Okay,” Connor happily slurred, allowing Oliver to half-drag him out of the bar as he stumbled along. 

Oliver put Connor in his car and drove home in silence, and then dragged him into the elevator and down the hallway into his apartment. Connor didn’t put up any fight, but he also didn’t provide a lot of help and Oliver struggled a little under his weight. Finally, Oliver had managed to sit Connor down on the edge of their bed but when he tried to pull away Connor wouldn’t let go of his shirt. He had his fist curled up in the buttons just below the collar, like a small child, and Oliver leaned awkwardly over Connor, unable to stand upright. 

“No.” Connor mumbled into Oliver’s neck. 

Oliver was annoyed as he reached down to pry Connor’s fingers open, but he tried to hide it. “I’m right here Connor. I’m not going anywhere. But you have to let go of my shirt.” 

Connor reluctantly obliged and Oliver knelt down in front of Connor to begin taking off Connor’s shirt. Connor just sat there with a stupid grin on his face and watched Oliver while Oliver undressed him down to his boxers. When Oliver finished and looked at Connor, Connor leaned back and wriggled his eyebrows at him suggestively. It was so drunk and ridiculous that Oliver would have laughed if Connor wasn’t currently relapsing from a serious addiction problem. But right now nothing about this situation was funny, and Oliver slowly guided Connor under the bed sheets. 

Connor fell asleep before Oliver had even reached the other side of the bed. Oliver undressed and laid down, but he wasn’t even remotely tired. His brain was running a mile a minute as he stared at the ceiling and tried to piece together what was happening. Had there been any warning signs that he had missed? How long had this been going on? How many nights where Connor was supposedly at the office was he actually at a bar? How long had Connor been lying about being sober? Why hadn’t Connor talked to him, let him know that he was struggling and about to relapse? Or maybe Connor had never gotten clean and sober in the first place. After all, the whole thing had felt suspiciously easy.

Oliver laid there for a few hours, his thoughts running in circles and knots forming in his stomach, until he decided he couldn’t lie there any longer. He got up and put on some sweats and a t-shirt and went into the kitchen to make himself some tea. The sun was rising outside his window and he sat in the living room with his tea and watched it. His stomach felt queasy and his nerves were frayed, but the warmth of his drink and the quiet morning helped him settle down a little. He was grateful for the peace and solitude, the calm before the storm. 

Oliver lost track of how long he was sitting there, but eventually he heard the mattress creak and Connor groan. Oliver didn’t move to check on him. He had left a glass of water and some Tylenol on the bed stand and he heard the glass being put back down, followed by the sound of a dresser being opened and closed. Eventually he heard the soft patter of Connor’s feet coming into the living room, but Oliver still didn’t turn around. He didn’t want to look at Connor. Didn’t want to face the reality of this situation yet. 

He didn’t have much of a choice though, as Connor sat down on the couch beside him. He could feel Connor’s gaze on the side of his head, waiting for Oliver to make the first move. Oliver closed his eyes for a moment to prepare himself before he turned to look at Connor. When he did, he saw guilt and embarrassment plastered all over Connor’s face, along with another emotion that he couldn’t quite place. Something darker and more distant. 

Oliver stared into Connor’s eyes for a long moment before speaking. “Good morning Connor” he said, bitterness and sarcasm thickly underlying the statement. Connor waivered a little at the harsh tone and averted his eyes; his face showed even more shame than before, and Oliver instantly felt a little guilty for his tone. There was a long pause.

“I don’t know what to say,” Connor finally muttered in a trembling voice, bringing his hand up to run through his hair. He was staring at the wall now and looked like he was about to cry. Oliver stared at him for a moment, his eyes searching for clues on the other man’s face, trying to figure out what was going on in his mind and what had led them to this point. Oliver had so many questions that he would need answered, but his face softened at Connor’s evident pain and he moved closer to Connor, pulling Connor into his side. Connor leaned his head against Oliver’s shoulder and neither of them said anything for a moment, just absorbing the feel of each other’s familiar comfort. 

But even as Connor settled into Oliver’s embrace, his brain had started to wake up from the fog of initially waking up hung over, and his thoughts were starting to crash in around him. He was overwhelmed by the wall that would forever be between them because of Connor’s lies. Oliver was thinking that Connor had relapsed and Connor couldn’t correct him. He would have to lie to him again. Oliver would want to know details and Connor would have to make up more lies to pile on top of the old ones. Truth be told, at this point he probably did have a bit of a drinking problem, but he would never be able to open up to Oliver about what was causing it. It killed him that he was hurting Oliver, lying to Oliver, disappointing Oliver, over and over again. Here was this incredibly sweet, genuine guy who deserved good things in his life and instead Connor was pulling him into his self-destructive and fucked up life. Tears welled up in his eyes and when Oliver finally pulled away to look at him, one rolled down his cheek. He swallowed and wiped it away quickly, always uncomfortable with showing that much vulnerability.

Oliver’s heart hurt to see Connor hurting. “I’m not mad,” he reassured, and it wasn’t a lie. All of his anger had rapidly disappeared at the sight of Connor’s fragility. 

Connor tightened his lips and shook his head slightly at that, hugging his knees up to his chest. “You should be,” he muttered. “I’m ruining us."

Oliver frowned at those words. “You’re not,” he said softly. 

“No, I am. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me and I’m the worst thing to happen to you. I’m so selfish. You deserve so much better than me.” Another tear rolled down Connor’s cheek and he didn’t bother to wipe it away this time. 

Oliver could feel a pit in his stomach and a lump in his throat. This was not how he had expected this conversation to go. He had expected to confront Connor and for Connor to get defensive in return. He had considered the idea of telling Connor that he would have to go to rehab and Connor insisting that it wasn’t necessary. He was prepared for a fight, but he wasn’t prepared for the self-loathing, crying man in front of him. He knew how to argue with Connor. He had gotten quite good at it, actually. But he had no idea how to handle this. 

“Stop,” Oliver coaxed. “Connor, you’re by far one of the best things that ever happened to me. You’re human and you faltered, but you’re not a bad person. We can fix this.” 

Connor shook his head harder and then rested his forehead on his knees, letting out a small sob. Oliver just sat silently and watched him, completely at a loss for how to comfort the man. 

Eventually, Connor pulled himself back together a little and sat back up, pressing his eyes into the heels of his hands for a moment and then looking back up at Oliver with a more composed and determined look on his face. “I can’t do this to you,” he murmured. “Not anymore. It’s not fair.” 

Oliver’s eyes widened at the words. He realized Connor was talking about them breaking up, and that was definitely not something he was prepared for or had even considered. The way this conversation was going, it felt like they were living in two different worlds, seeing two different versions of what was happening. He had no idea just how much that was actually true. 

“Connor, don’t run from me,” he pleaded. “Let me help you through this.”

“You can’t,” Connor choked out. He swallowed and tried to make his voice a little stronger. “You don’t deserve this. I shouldn’t even be here.” 

“Oh for God’s sake, Connor!” Oliver was getting exasperated now. This conversation had escalated so quickly and he had no idea why. “Why are you saying these things?” He paused for a moment and when Connor didn’t answer he continued quietly, “What did I do wrong?”

Connor visibly flinched at those words. “Nothing. You are perfect,” he looked straight into Oliver’s eyes, his own eyes begging Oliver to believe him. “But I’m bad. I’m toxic, Oliver. And I’m pulling you down with me.” 

Oliver looked away for a moment and then looked back up at him. “I knew what I was signing up for when I let you back in after that night, after you told me you had a problem” he spoke slowly, thinking about the words carefully before he said them. “I knew things might get tough at times. But I chose to let you back in anyway.” His words were becoming angry now. “I’m a grown man, Connor. I am capable of determining what I can and can’t handle. I want to be here, with you. Even through the rough patches and the relapses. You don’t get to just push me away under the pretense that you’re protecting me. You don’t get to make that decision for me.” 

Connor wasn’t looking at him, though, and Oliver could sense a wall going up in Connor’s mind. “I have to go to class,” he mumbled as he got up off the couch.

Oliver stared at him, disbelieving. “You can’t just leave!” he exclaimed, frantic. 

“Oliver,” Connor pleaded softly, a hint of desperation in his voice, “I have to go. We can keep talking tonight, but I need…” he trailed off and shifted on his feet. Truthfully, he desperately needed some time away from Oliver and out of this apartment to clear his head, wanting to escape before he said or did anything stupid. He was hung over and emotional and on the verge of either breaking up with Oliver or telling Oliver everything. He wasn’t sure which he would regret more. 

Oliver could sense the turmoil in Connor’s voice and could see the agitation in Connor’s movements. So he nodded - a silent acquiescence to Connor’s request for an escape. Connor quickly grabbed his jacket and his bag and rushed out the front door, leaving Oliver on the couch anxious and alone.


	2. Chapter 2

Connor didn’t go to his class or to work. Once he left the apartment, he walked for blocks and blocks, lost in his own mind and not paying attention to where he was going, until he eventually found himself at one of his favorite bars. He contemplated for a moment before going in and ordering a beer. He knew he shouldn’t, given the current situation he had just left, but he rationalized that it wasn’t actually the alcohol that was causing the problems in his life. It was the pesky little fact that he had helped cover up two murders. Compared to that, a beer was a miniscule thing. Besides, he was still hung over and he figured a drink would help. Hair of the dog and all that.

He stayed at the bar all day, but didn’t consume alcohol quickly enough to take him over the edge. He just took occasional, absent-minded sips as he contemplated everything. His phone rang multiple times throughout the day. Various members of the Keating Five were trying to reach him, probably all at the office talking about him, wondering where he had gone last night when he was supposed to go home with Laurel and wondering why he wasn’t around today. But he ignored it, eventually turning his phone off to stop the constant buzzing. He didn’t care about them right now. He didn’t care about anything except for Oliver and the fact that it looked like he was about to lose him.

He had no idea what he was going to do. He couldn’t go home until he came up with a solution, and he didn’t think a solution existed, so he was stuck. Glued to his bar stool until the world ended or something. 

The world kept turning, but the bar eventually closed, so Connor found him standing on the street at 2 in the morning. He was still at a loss for what to do. He turned his phone back on and saw over 50 missed calls, plus several text messages and a couple voicemails. He didn’t bother to go through any of them and instead he just called Michaela. 

“Connor?” her anxious voice rang through. 

“Yeah, hi” he muttered. “I -” 

“Oh my god Connor. We were all starting to think you were dead. What the hell happened to you?” She interrupted. 

“I’m sorry. I can explain. But I need you to come get me,” he responded tiredly. 

He gave her the address of where he was and then he sat on a nearby bench and waited. He buried his head in his hands and rested his elbows on his knees. When Michaela’s car pulled up to the curb, she rolled down the passenger side window and looked at him. He didn’t say much, just got in and let her drive them back to her apartment. He rested his head against the side of the car with his face exposed to the open window, focusing on the feeling of the cold night air against his face. 

Once they were in her apartment, sitting at her table with mugs of warm coffee in their hands, Michaela prodded him. She wanted to know what happened and why Connor looked like an absolute train wreck.

Connor relayed the whole story about Oliver finding him at the bar and about how he just felt so tired of lying to him so he had run out this morning before he accidentally confessed everything. Michaela listened quietly until he finished the story. 

“Connor, he’s probably worried sick about your right now,” she finally said. 

Connor just nodded. He was sure that Oliver was a mess, wondering why Connor hadn’t come home yet even though he had said they could talk tonight. “I don’t know what to do,” he sighed. 

Michaela got up and rooted through her purse, and Connor watched her to try and figure out what she was doing. She pulled out her cell phone and called someone, putting the phone to her ear. Connor panicked and was about to protest, but Michaela glared at him so he kept his mouth shut. 

“Oliver, hey it’s Michaela... No, I know. He’s here with me… Yeah, I picked him up at a bar… No, don’t. It’s late. He’s already sleeping. We should just give him a little space so that we don’t push him too far. How about you come by tomorrow morning instead… Yeah, I promise. Okay, goodnight Oliver, I’ll see you in a few hours.” 

Michaela stared at the phone for a moment after she had hung up and then sat back down. Connor was fidgeting in his seat. “What do you think will happen if he knows?” she asked slowly. 

Connor shrugged. “He’ll probably leave me. I don’t know if he will call the cops, but he might. I know he won’t ever be able to look at me the same.” 

Michaela nodded slowly. “We can’t tell him,” she said firmly. 

“I know,” Connor’s voice cracked. “But Michaela, I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep lying to him. They just keep piling up and I can’t do it anymore. I’m losing my mind. And I can’t leave him. He’s the only reason I get up in the mornings.” 

Michaela sighed, looking at the trembling man in front of her. He was a mess. All of them had been struggling beyond words, because there’s no easy way to cope with what they had all been through, but Connor had definitely had the hardest time putting himself back together. They were all just trying to keep their heads above water but Connor was clearly sinking. 

“So don’t lie to him,” she said quietly, as though it was a simple solution. 

“Michaela, you just said we can’t tell him!” Connor exclaimed. 

She shook her head. “We don’t tell him, but we don’t lie to him either. Tell him what you just told me. That you don’t want to lie to him, but you can’t tell him the truth. That you need him. He loves you, Connor. He might not be happy about it, and he might not accept it right away, but he’ll come around to it if you can make him see that it’s for the best.”

Connor just stared at his coffee mug. It was a terrible idea, but it was the only solution. At least, if he could convince Oliver to accept it. That seemed like an impossible feat. 

“Can I use your shower?” he finally asked, breaking the silence that had fallen over them. He hadn’t showered last morning because he was so desperate to get out of the apartment and he was starting to feel pretty gross.

Michaela nodded. “I’ll get you a towel.”


	3. Chapter 3

Oliver knocked on the door promptly at 8am. Connor knew he probably wanted to show up all night and that it took all of his will power not to. He probably decided that 8am was the earliest that he could come over while keeping his word to Michaela about waiting until morning.

Connor was on Michaela’s couch and his stomach was in knots. Michaela had made them more coffee as they had talked about what Connor was going to say, but Connor wished he hadn’t drank it because it was making him even more anxious and jittery. The caffeine, the sleep deprivation, and the fact that his mental state had already been so frayed made him feel like a complete wreck. He had been trying to stave off a panic attack for the last hour. Michaela had turned on the television to distract him from his thoughts but he didn’t pay any attention to it so eventually she shut it off again. He felt nauseous. He felt like he was going to pass out. He couldn’t do this. Oh god, he couldn't do this. 

“Hey, Oliver” Michaela greeted him at the door and let him into the apartment. She offered him a cup of coffee but he shook his head. He looked expectantly at Connor, who had his arms crossed across his stomach and refused to look up from the floor. “Right, okay, well I’m going to go out then. Let you guys talk,” Michaela said softly, putting a gentle hand on Oliver’s arm for a moment. Oliver smiled gratefully at her before she left.

As Oliver approached Connor, he noticed that the younger man appeared to be extremely focused on something on the floor that Oliver couldn't see. He was taking very purposefully controlled, unnaturally slow breaths, in and out, and his hands clenched his sides tightly. Oliver knew what that meant, that Connor was incredibly close to a panic attack and was trying desperately to prevent it. 

He sat down next to Connor. He didn’t reach out to grab him or try to console him. He knew that any attempts at comfort would probably just send Connor over the edge, the same way a sad person will start crying if you hug them. He just sat in silence, letting Connor breathe through it and waiting for him to make the first move. 

“Um,” Connor finally began after his breathing had evened out. Oliver lifted his gaze to look at him. Connor had rehearsed all of this with Michaela this morning, but now his thoughts and his words weren’t connecting and he trailed off into an extended silence before starting again. Oliver was patient and just watched Connor, trying not to push him or spook him. 

“Michaela thinks I should check myself into a rehab somewhere” he finally stuttered out. It wasn’t a lie. They had discussed this at length, trying to figure out the best way to start the conversation with Oliver. Michaela had treated the situation like they were trying to prepare for a trial, deciding how to convince a jury to side with them on the case. So she suggested they start with something that they knew Oliver would agree with and want to hear. It was a bargaining tool, a sacrifice that would make him more sympathetic and open to the rest of the conversation. And at this point, Connor really could use a break from the world and Michaela really was starting to get concerned about his drinking. 

Oliver nodded slowly and reached out to tentatively put a hand on Connor’s leg, trying to breach the distance between them without making Connor freak out. Connor looked down at his hand for a moment and swallowed. 

“I told her I would do it and she called a program for me.” Connor paused after that. He was not at all ready for the next part of this conversation. He thought about how he didn’t have to do it. He could just leave the conversation there and go back to living the lies he had created. They weren’t comfortable, but they were safe. Instead he was about to cross the line into the unknown and he was risking losing Oliver forever. He was determined though. He couldn’t keep going the way things were, so he took another deep breath and let it out as a shaky exhale before he continued, “But she’s only checking me in because I've been drinking more than usual lately. I’m not a drug addict. I lied to you that night about being on drugs. I wasn’t on anything then. I didn’t have a problem. I was just… something else happened.” 

Oliver flinched at the words and waited for Connor to keep going, but Connor had fallen silent, staring at Oliver’s hand on his leg as though he was expecting it to be pulled away. Now it was Oliver’s turn to take a deep breath. Connor hadn’t spoken more than a few sentences, but the words that hit him were so heavy and significant. Connor had been lying to him for months, and not just small lies. It had taken time for Oliver to adjust to the idea of Connor being a drug addict and it was weird to have that ripped away from him now. 

But he didn’t pull his hand away and he didn’t get mad yet. He knew this had something to do with Connor’s previous comments about how he could go to jail, and his cryptic unexplained fear of Oliver getting involved with his work. He knew it had to be something big, because he had watched Connor slowly turn from the cocky, attractive, eager law student he met in a bar to something much darker. He was still very attractive, but with something brewing underneath the surface. Something that would occasionally wake him up in the middle of the night and that subdued most of his previous confidence. Something that even had led him to develop a drinking problem, apparently. So Oliver couldn’t be mad yet. He had to wait for the explanation. 

When Connor realized that Oliver wasn’t yelling at him, he looked up at him for the first time all morning. “I hate myself for lying to you,” he choked out. “And I’m just so tired.” 

Oliver shifted closer and gently lifted Connor’s chin, looking into his eyes and then placing a soft kiss on his lips. “So talk to me, Connor. I’m right here. Let me in,” Oliver coaxed. 

This was it, Connor realized. The final hurdle. Connor had come clean about the lie, and Oliver had taken it far better than expected. He almost couldn’t believe how well Oliver had taken it. He was being so loving and kind and forgiving that Connor's heart almost broke right then and there at the thought of the next part of the conversation. Now Connor had to tell Oliver that on top of his massive lie, he still couldn’t tell Oliver the truth. He shuddered under Oliver’s loving gaze, guilt washing over every inch of him. Why did Oliver have to be so perfect? 

“I-“ he stuttered. He meant to say “I can’t” but he faltered. And just like that he realized he couldn’t do this. Sure, it wouldn’t be a lie, but it still wasn’t honesty. It was still putting up the same walls between him and Oliver. It was still going to be something that would always come between them. And Oliver was being so amazing and would probably even agree to it, but Connor just couldn't keep doing that to him. 

Suddenly he felt like he was trapped under Oliver’s kind eyes. They bore into him and twisted his insides and he couldn’t move. He couldn’t say what Michaela had told him to say and he couldn’t take back what had already been said and what had been done to get them to this terrible place. The only way out of this was to tell him the truth, and that meant losing Oliver forever. 

So Connor panicked. It came completely without warning. He suddenly felt like his chest was being squeezed through a tube that was too tight. He took in gulps of air, and his hands clenched into tight fists. His fingernails were digging into his palms but he didn’t even notice. His arms and legs were paralyzed. His vision was blacking out around the edges. He could hear Oliver calling his name, but it was muffled under the sound of his own heart beat in his ears. He could see Oliver’s eyes go wide and frantic, but he was far away. The outside world didn’t exist anymore. His senses had shut off their connection to his brain and his entire reality consisted of the loud thump of his heart and pure fear coursing through his body.


	4. Chapter 4

“Connor, I need you to calm down. Deep breaths. It’s okay.” 

It was a gentle female voice. But he had no idea where it was coming from because everything was pitch black and his heartbeat was still thudding in his ears. He felt a cool hand on his forehead and the sensation made him realized his eyes were shut tight. Slowly, he opened them. Michaela was knelt down in front of him and her eyes were calm. Soothing. 

“Hey,” she smiled. “Good, there we go. Deep breaths.” 

Connor obeyed and his heart rate started to slow. His fists unclenched and he winced as he uncurled his sore fingers. Michaela had one hand on his face and the other behind his neck, and she slowly released him, placing him gently against the back of the couch, and stood up. 

She had come in moments after Connor started to panic. Oliver was frantic and about to call an ambulance. He had seen Connor have a panic attack before, even some particularly bad ones, but he had never seen Connor just go completely unresponsive like that. He wasn’t sure if it was a panic attack or some sort of seizure. Luckily, Michaela had been pre-med in college and knew that Connor wasn’t in danger. She was able to stay calm and bring him back down. 

Connor’s whole body felt heavy and exhausted as he slowly regained control of all of his limbs and sat up. Oliver was still sitting next to him on the couch, still taken aback by the sudden attack, and his face was lined with concern and worry. Connor didn’t look at him, just rubbed his hands along his face before resting his elbows on his knees and massaging his temples with his hands, still trying to get his breathing back to normal. Nobody said anything for what felt like an eternity. The silence was heavy in the air around him.

Michaela came back over and handed Connor a glass of water, which he gratefully drank. The cool liquid felt nice against his throat, which felt thick and dry from all the gasping, and it gave him something to do other than just be stared at in silence. Then she sat down next to him, on the opposite side of Oliver, and brought a comforting hand up to run up and down his back. She had no idea what point in the conversation they had been at when Connor lost it, but she was trying to silently communicate her support for him to keep going. Connor closed his eyes, accepting the comfort of her touch and trying to fully regain his composure. 

Finally, he set down the glass and looked over at Oliver, who stared back at him with a look that showed he was desperately waiting for Connor to say something. But Connor didn’t know what to say. He kept thinking that words, any words at all, would finally come to him. But nothing did. He looked away again. This had never happened to him before. He’d been at a loss for words, sure, but eventually _something_ always came to him. The conversation always started up again. But this time, the silence just stretched on forever. 

Connor couldn’t bear it anymore. He stood up. Oliver’s and Michaela’s eyes both followed him as he shook his head and walked to the bathroom. Once he had closed the door behind him, he sank onto the edge of the bathtub and ran a hand through his hair. The relief that the solitude brought was indescribable. He just needed some space to breathe without both of their eyes watching him and analyzing him. 

Connor got up and splashed some cold water on his face from the sink, trying to cool the lingering anxiety from his panic attack. Then he put his hands on either side of the sink and leaned forward towards the mirror, examining himself. His hair was messy and ruffled, his eyes were bloodshot and had bags underneath them, and his face was lined with exhaustion. He decided that he looked like shit, and laughed a little to himself. God, he was a mess. 

His solitude didn’t last long, because a moment later someone knocked softly on the other side of the closed door. Connor ignored it, wanting to prolong his little safety bubble for another minute. Then the person knocked again and Connor knew that he had to open the door. He couldn’t avoid it forever. He wasn’t sure who would be on the other side, Oliver or Michaela, and he wasn’t sure which one he would prefer. 

He reluctantly opened the door and it felt like cracking open a seal, letting all of the comfort of his perfect little fortress seep out. Michaela was on the other side, and Connor was disappointed. Though, he honestly probably would have been disappointed either way. 

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice heavy with concern. 

Connor just shrugged. What a dumb question. 

Michaela eyed him for a minute and Connor shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. “What can I do?” She finally asked softly. 

Connor sighed. “Nothing. I have to do this.” And after pausing for another moment to breathe, he walked out of the bathroom to where Oliver was still sitting in the living room. He didn’t tell Michaela _what_ he had to do though, because he knew that she would stop him if he did. 

Oliver stood up when Connor approached and Connor immediately buried himself in Oliver’s neck and wrapped his arms around Oliver’s back. It took Oliver by surprise, but he didn’t hesitate to embrace the man, wrapping his arms around Connor’s shoulders. They just stood there for a moment, Connor breathing in the scent of Oliver and feeling the warmth of his body for what might be the last time. Oliver holding Connor like maybe if he held on long enough, he could put all of Connor’s broken pieces back together and remove all of the barriers that had been raised between them in the past 48 hours. 

Then Connor pulled back slightly, lifting his head so he could press his cheek against Oliver’s. “Take me home,” he whispered into Oliver’s ear. 

Oliver desperately wanted an answer to the burning questions in his mind, but he had never heard Connor request anything with so much need in his voice. So he nodded. Then he pulled away and led Connor to the front door with a hand on his back. 

Michaela watched them leave, and Oliver gave her a grateful nod as he closed the door behind them.


	5. Chapter 5

Oliver drove Connor back to the apartment, but when he parked and turned off the ignition, Connor made no move to get out of the car. Oliver looked at him and waited, getting the feeling that Connor wanted to say something but was trying to figure out how. 

“That night…” Connor, began. 

Oliver’s stomach clenched. _Here?_ He thought. _They were going to do this in a car in a parking lot, even though the privacy of their apartment was right in front of them?_

But Oliver didn’t interrupt him. He couldn't postpone it any longer. He needed to know what it was that had been plaguing Connor for so long and tugging on their relationship like a heavy anchor. He needed to know what inspired Connor to lie to him about being an addict. So he reached out and grabbed Connor’s hand in encouragement. 

Connor looked down at their interlaced fingers blankly for a moment, and then back up at Oliver. “You’re going to think I’m a monster” he murmured. “You won’t love me anymore.” 

Oliver just squeezed his hand tighter. “Try me” he challenged. 

So Connor took a deep breath and the words came tumbling out. It was as though a dam had been broken and everything that was kept inside was rushing out with full force and once it began, nothing could have stopped it. He talked about the night of Sam’s death, and then tying up Rebecca, and then Rebecca’s mysterious disappearance. He talked about how Frank was the one to steal his car so that they would have something to hold over him if he tried to run or go to the police. He told Oliver that they had threatened to go after Oliver for the illegal hacking if he didn’t fall in line with all of their plans. He talked about Wes being committed to a psych ward. He talked about Sinclair’s murder and how he almost shot Annalise, and he would have if Michaela hadn’t stepped in front of the gun. The words were fast and overwhelming, but they didn’t come out frantic or emotional. He reiterated the story with a dull and detached tone, as though he was simply reciting words from a book. He stared straight ahead of him the entire time, unwilling to look at Oliver as he spilled his secrets. 

There was a long pause when the story finished, but Connor looked down to find that Oliver was still holding his hand, squeezing it so tight that it almost cut off his circulation. Oliver was staring at Connor, but Connor still refused to look at Oliver’s face. 

“Well no wonder” Oliver finally whispered.

At that, Connor finally looked up at him with a look of pure confusion. “No wonder?” he asked nervously, desperate for Oliver to say something else. To react in some way to the real-life horror story Connor had just put out in front of him.

“No wonder you told me you were a drug addict.”

Oliver had to admit, of all of the scenarios that had run through his head and all of the possibilities that he had considered, he had never once even come close to considering that Connor had helped cover up two separate murders for his boss. That just wasn’t an automatic conclusion someone jumps to, even when their significant other is slowly losing his grasp on his sanity. 

Oliver knew that Connor was waiting for him to say more, but he was in shock. He had heard the words and he had understood the words, but the emotional response section of his brain seemed to be completely shut off. It immediately flipped back on, however, when Oliver realized he had been silently and blankly staring at Connor for a moment too long because Connor’s whole body began to tremble and his breath started coming out in short quick gasps. Another panic attack was on the horizon. 

“Shit. No. Connor, hey look at me. Look at me Connor!” Oliver’s voice was strong and commanding and Connor turned his head to look at him, his breath coming out in gasps and hiccups and on the brink of being fully immersed in his panic. Oliver took this opportunity to reach out with the hand that wasn’t still entangled with Connor’s and grabbed the back of Connor’s neck, pulling him in for a forceful kiss. It was intended as a distraction, meant to take Connor by surprise and stave off the oncoming attack, and it worked. Connor’s breath caught and he went limp under Oliver’s lips. Oliver pushed in further, pressing Connor’s back up against the passenger window and running his hand down Connor’s neck before grabbing a fistful of Connor’s shirt below the collar. Then Connor was wrapping an arm around Oliver and grabbing the back of his head with the other hand and kissing him back, harder than he’d ever kissed before, all while whimpering into Oliver's lips. Oliver thought the man might be crying, and when he finally pulled back his suspicions were confirmed. Tears were rolling down Connor’s cheeks. 

Oliver pulled Connor into a hug, cradling the back of his head and allowing Connor to immerse himself in Oliver’s neck. “Shhh. It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

They sat like that for what might have been minutes or might have been hours. Oliver really wasn’t sure. As he held Connor, he let the truth of Connor’s story sink in. It made his stomach churn and his chest ache and he held Connor a little bit tighter. He didn’t see Connor as a monster or a murderer. He saw him as a broken and traumatized man that was drowning and desperately flailing for a lifeline. Finally, he pulled away and cradled Connor’s face in his hands, running a thumb over Connor’s blotchy, tear-stained cheeks. “Let’s go inside?” he asked softly, and Connor nodded. 

Oliver didn’t know what they were going to do. But he did know that _they_ were going to be doing it. Together.


End file.
